Itch
by kurushi
Summary: At the moment of Scorpius Malfoy's birth, Draco realises what that irritating feeling in his chest really means.


_I've had a bit of a down week, so this is an un-beta-ed and silly story to cheer me up while writing it. I don't think I'll ever edit it, so I felt I may as well post it now. I'd love to hear any comments or criticism as a result. Especially if anything is in the wrong verb tense. I do hope it's enjoyable to read._

* * *

Sometimes in life there are moments that change everything. They warp your perspective, shed insight on memories and emotions that you had _thought_ you understood, but never really did. At the birth of Scorpius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy stands beside Parvati Patil, and they both watch Astoria holding their son. He's _their_ son, because Draco's never really wanted love, and Astoria's always been a lesbian, and their parents were dead-set on their children marrying and reproducing with a pureblood, and this arrangment is much easier.

Astoria is his wife, and she lives in her own wing in the manor, with her lover. They've got this little suite of rooms prepared for Scorpius, between everyone's quarters. They've moved all three of their bedrooms to be close to him, just in case. They've got through this hellish pregnancy together. Everything has built up to this moment.

There, in the small blinking unseeing eyes of his newborn son, Draco _feels_ and he _sees_ and he _understands_. There's this sweet itching prickle under his skin. He can't get it out. It's like fear, it's like hatred, it's like every strong emotion in the universe, mixed together into an overwhelming crescendo. He's not sure he'll be good enough for this boy, his boy, their boy. The kid moves his fingers, he might not understand what fingers are. What fingers _do_. Wiggles them anyway, because he's testing this new world out for himself. Draco is so proud he feels like he'll burst. The warmth in his chest is so intense, it's irritating.

He wants to say something awkward, stiffen his spine, and run. A lot of his own father's behaviour makes sense, and that makes all of these sensations _worse_. Awe, and oh this feeling must be love. He wants to punch something, kill something. Not half because he's had this feeling, a little less intense, once before in his life. Washing over him in the instant that he saw Neville Longbottom searching for his lost toad on the train.

Brilliant. Adorable. Perfect. Too good for him. Unreachable. He'd mistaken it for contempt and disdain. He'd heard enough stories about the Longbottoms, it wasn't that much of a reach to put together mudblood lovers and this rising prickling itch in his chest, and mistake it for detestation.

He feels sick. Parvati leans closer to Astoria, and whispers something in her ear. Once Scorpius is a few years old, they've agreed, Parvati's going to have a kid of her own. They'll be a proper family, then. He wants to reach out and touch his son. He's scared he's going to forget that this is what unconditional love feels like, and kill the boy one day. He's even more scared that the kid will get attached to him, follow in his own depressing footsteps. Like father, like son. That he will mistake love for hatred and hatred for love.

'Come on, Draco,' Astoria says. She's still on some of the relaxing potions, but she's more on the ball than he is at any time of day. 'Don't be shy, he won't bite. No teeth. See?'

She offers Scorpius a finger, and he gums at it like he can't quite understand, but hello warm intrusion. Then, he looks up at her, and their eyes meet, and Draco is so very full of love for his son that he just wants to _punch_ something.

It gets easier with time. Scorpius has pissed, puked and shat on them all. They have become expert at cleaning spells. The kid is easy to entertain, except when he isn't, and since time seems so huge and changeable when you're that age, an accidental moment of boredom is tantamount to apocalypse. You'd think so, from the screams. Takes an instant to set him off crying, and ten hours to calm him down. Sometimes the brat is so petulant that he whines unless all three of his parents are there to put him to bed.

He's spoiled. None of them can resist. They're ruining him, Draco's mother says, but she's one to talk, bringing new toys and volunteering to babysit. Draco's caught her in the kitchen, heating a bottle by hand. Not because she has to, but because there's something that feels very proprietary about doing it all yourself. Draco knows she never did it for him, but that makes it better, in some ways. Scorpius is worth doing this for, in her eyes. Perhaps he will escape everything that Draco suffered, after all.

Once Scorpius is sleeping through the night and Draco's back at work in the Ministry, that other little niggling issue comes back. Neville. Neville, Neville, oh Neville! He can remember Neville more at the end, with that tight jaw and that sword. What a pity he'd lost all that adorable chubbiness, he'd have been glorious to touch. What a brilliant state of affairs, that he'd replaced it with gleaming, thick, tough muscle. Not that Draco's shallow. He's infatuated with the honesty, the courage, the dangerous dont-fuck-with-me glare. The unassuming and gentle way Neville just accepts everything his friends tell him. The way he looks so open in photographs, though he's hiding everything beneath the surface.

Draco decides, since he can never be forgiven for all the bullying and, you know, the whole working for the side of the evil darkness, it will never happen. Ever. Not ever, no never. But that's good, that's safe. Neville worked on salvage and recovery at Hogwarts, and he's continued on there, building the new school and writing curriculum. He'll be one of the youngest human teachers in history, and though there's money from the Ministry, it's not quite enough. Even with the baby boom and all the new jobs, there's not enough money. So, Draco hides his penance to his one and only romantic true love, by discovering philanthropic donations, charity balls, and bitching about them in public to make it seem like an obligation.

Half the time, he lets Parvati go with Astoria. Pretends it's their date night, and he sits around at home with Scorpius and Mother, and grumbles about the pretension that surrounds the events.

'Half of them spend more on their outfits than the cause. It's not ludicrous, it's despicable. It's just another celebrity party for them to show off at!'

His mother, who generally fawns over Scorpius and reads Witch Weekly, sighs. 'That is the point, dear. You have to appeal to money to get money. You used to _know_ these things.'

Draco huffs. 'I used to _not_ care. It's obscene. There are kids that need a school, and the teachers need all the help they can get. Parts of the castle still aren't safe, you know?'

'Dear,' his mother says, with great inflection. She leaves it at that.

Scorpius has built a tower of blocks, and knocked it over again. He's brilliant. Just brilliant, is what he is. Draco picks the blocks up, and helps him build the next.

Later that evening, on their way back in, Parvati stoops to scoop Scorpius into her arms. Astoria leans down behind Draco, and jeers in his ear. 'Your _boyfriend_ wanted a word with you.'

All the blood drains from his body. He doesn't know where it went. Feet? Head? Organs? Doesn't matter, he feels like he's about to faint.

'You didn't say a word,' he says, hand shaking as he turns and points a finger at her. 'Did you? Not one word. You swore.'

She smiles slowly. 'Not one word. He came up all on his own, with this serious face. I think he's looking for a fight.'

Draco swore, and wrote in to take some emergency family leave. 'Scorpius has a medical condition,' he said out loud. 'I'll need to take a month.'

'No, he doesn't,' Astoria said. 'You can't pretend that gas is an illness every time this happens, you know? I've seen sick children at St Mungo's. Scorpius is too healthy for you to be able to...'

Draco does know, but he's not going to admit it. He scowls and grumbles and ignores the rest of her lecture. He heads off to bed before everyone else, and holds the quilts and blankets close around himself in the dark. This is bad, very bad. Because when Draco sees Neville, he can't control himself. His lungs itch and his stomach rebels, and the last time he saw Neville in person, he was seventeen years old, and it was across a battlefield. The time before that... Draco can't remember. He possibly was levitating itching powder down the back of Neville's shirt.

Which, with hindsight, was a very good way to get a look at that chest. Not that he'd known well enough to ogle it at the time.

In the morning, there's a knock at the door. It's Neville. He looks very serious, and apologetic, and shy, and angry, and the combination of those emotions, the way it makes his eyebrows furrow together and his shoulders edge up with tension, just _does_ something to Draco.

So, Draco puts on his best grumpy face, and uses his shoe to push the house-elf away from the door – disgust will turn him away before he thinks of coming inside, right?

Just in case it doesn't, Draco also holds onto the door-frame and pulls the door closed, so that his head is peeping out and looking up. Neville is now more confused than anything else, which is adorable, but not the point.

'What?' Draco says sullenly.

'Look, Malfoy, I know you like your privacy, but this really-'

Draco looks away, pretends not to pay any attention. Rude. That will get rid of Neville. It has to be quick now, before the blush rises too high in his cheeks.

'This really will be better, just between us. I promised Minerva, you see. What with everything your family has been through, we didn't want to go through the Wizengamot.'

Crap. 'Wizengamot? What are you talking about, Longbottom?'

Emphasis on the bottom. Unfortunate. Now Draco can't stop thinking about the bottom, and he has not even laid eyes upon it.

'If you'll invite me in? This really isn't a conversation we should have on the front step.'

So, they go in. The house-elves bring tea and biscuits for Neville, but not Draco, which is just fine in his books. If Scorpius so much as smells sugar on him later, there will be hell to pay – and no pumpkin mash going anywhere but the walls.

'So?'

Neville laughs nervously, and rubs a hand behind the back of his neck. 'So, the thing is, people are noticing that you're donating a lot more than others to the reconstruction effort.'

'And?' Oh crap, oh shit. He's figured it out. That's why he's there, because he doesn't want to shame Draco publicly, but he wants it to stop.

'Your father, well. We can be honest and say he bought his way onto the school board, and Minerva's concerned. She doesn't want any one family or wizard holding that kind of sway over the school again.'

'Wait, what? That's it?' Draco can't believe it. He's got a fib ready for this one! What luck. 'No, no. I couldn't care less about the administration of the school. I simply... I know the history of my family, where a lot of our money has come from. I want my son to look back at this point in history, and see where Malfoy money went. What we valued, and why.'

Neville smiles wryly. 'Also, you just want Scorpius to have a nice dorm to sleep in.'

'The thought, yes, had crossed my mind. I know that wards and good stoves, mattresses and tapestries, and magical windows looking out into the lake all have their prices.'

Neville seems to be buying it. 'All right, then. I think that Minerva will want something in writing, but that's more than enough to reassure me. We were simply, we didn't want to be...'

'Unable to refuse the donations, and then unable to refuse me any demands I might make of you. I did grow up watching my father. I know the kind of reputation I have to live down.'

In Draco's mind, that is that. He smiles politely, and leans over to take Neville's plate, hurrying him along out the door, when Neville shifts forwards in his own seat, placing his hand on Draco's arm.

'Astoria and Parvati told me, about their relationship.'

Draco's blood runs cold in his veins. Oh, they did, did they? He was going to have words with them. Very specific and polite words about evasive and deceitful behaviour.

'Well, they don't broadcast it, but it isn't a secret.' And now Neville is trying to share some insight, some depressing way the girls worked their way around their promises, and Draco will have to flee from the room like the little schoolboy he is deep down inside.

Neville leans in, and says very earnestly, 'They told me, that you were very understanding. I, I don't think they'd have told you, how much it means to them. To have you for a friend, and to share a family with you. I don't think they want you to know, but really do value you.'

'Of course they do, they have unrestricted access to my accounts,' Draco says flippantly. 'Don't let them know that you told me, they probably don't want my ego inflating beyond its current boundaries. Surface tension, you see. Bubbles pop.'

'I never really grasped potions,' Neville laughs awkwardly, but he seems pleased, now that he has gotten that confession out.

'Well, no. My poor eyebrows remember. You're lucky I never scarred.'

Draco knows of course, exactly how happy Astoria and Parvati are in the Malfoy household. He'd seen how miserable and terrified they had been, before the wedding. But that Neville cared enough to make sure that Draco knew. That his high school bully was recognised for his positive affect on others... it makes Draco's heart twist and his breath sour. Ugh. Neville was such a stand-up guy. A real sweet, generous, caring idiot. He was too wonderful to live, honestly.

'Sorry,' Neville says, with an apologetic shrug.

_I put the millifronds into your cauldron behind your back! I burned my own eyebrows off, you berk!_ Draco doesn't say anything out loud. He tastes bitter bile, and knows that he is the lowest of the low. The most utmost terrible person in the world.

'Well, on that high note, now I've allayed your fears of any attempts to usurp McGonagall's marvellous management role, perhaps you should be going.'

Neville blinked, leans back, and lets Draco take his plate. Which, oh hell. Gives Draco a little bit of vertigo. He's been leaning in, close, to Neville. Fingers on his arm, skin. Touching. Holding a conversation. No wonder he's started reminiscing about the good old days of sabotage and cruelty.

'I, well, thank you. For the tea. And the biscuits. And you know, not telling Astoria and Parvati.'

The girls sometimes chose the worst times to show up.

'For not telling us what, Draco dear?'

Draco glares at Neville, he glares at his wife, and her wife, and their child. 'You both looked hideous in those robes at the party. There, are you happy, Longbottom?'

Neville smirks. Actually smirks. Draco nearly swoons. Luckily, bracing his arms against his chair keeps him steady.

Even though he has no reason whatsoever to visit again, Neville does. This time, Draco is sitting on the lawn outside, and Scorpius is clinging to the edge of a very shallow paddle-pool. Scorpius is becoming more adventurous, as his mobility increases. Being held by Draco in the paddle-pool, and splashing the water with his kicks, is one of _the_ most exciting things in life.

Draco's knees are turning green from the grass, and his shoulders are getting stiff. He will keep this up until naptime.

Neville must have been let in by one of the girls, or Mother. He kneels down beside the paddle-pool, and just watches Draco and Scorpius for a little while.

'Enjoying the show, Longbottom? I can point his feet your way. Short legs, but they make a pretty big splash.'

Neville smiles, and waves at Scorpius, and says the kinds of things that people who are not parents say.

'He's getting bigger.'

'Yep, that's what they do. It would be more notable if he hadn't grown at all. You haven't seen him in two months, honestly.'

Neville shrugs, and smiles, and splashes in the pool with his hands. Scorpius has discovered the next coolest thing to splashing yourself. Being splashed. And then, co-ordinated splashing.

It's working, so Draco just lets it happen. When it's about time, he carries a grumpy Scorpius away from the paddle-pool, and cleans him up inside. Gets him all dry and warm, and rolls out the naptime rug.

Neville just mills around, never too close, but always within eyeshot.

'So, what's the matter now?'

Neville blinks. 'Something has to be the matter for someone to visit your house? Oh, wait, never mind. It is your family.'

Draco scoffs, and rolls his eyes, and frowns. 'No, really. Why are you here? Did Astoria invite you?'

Neville shrugs. 'I just... you're never at the events.'

'I hate the events,' Draco reminds him. But he's not reminding Neville, because Neville's never had the conversation with him before. This is the first time he's hearing it.

'All right, so you don't like that kind of crowd. But you don't go out at all, really, do you? Astoria said...'

'If you're looking for her, she's out shopping. You can wait in the kitchen, that's where she usually stops to unpack the groceries.'

Neville sighs heavily, and moves around, makes eye contact. 'Would you stop being so... for a second? I just wanted to say. I know that Astoria and Parvati go out a lot together. I know you don't keep in touch with most of your friends. Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, they say that everyone needs to get out of the house for a break, when they have a young child...'

'And what, you came here thinking that you'd save me from my isolation by asking me down to your local for a few?'

From the embarrassed look on his face, that's a yes.

Draco nearly dies right there on the spot. His body can't contain the feeling, his mind cannot process it. In the corner of the room, a book rustles all of its pages at once, and its cover knocks against the end of the bookshelf.

It's pathetic. Draco hasn't had an outburst of spontaneous magic for years. Neville doesn't seem to notice. He's just avoiding Draco's gaze, and stuttering little get-out clauses.

'Well, I mean, it wasn't a very good plan. I just thought maybe, you know?'

'Oh, shut up. I hate pubs. Too dingy and too many people. The season's about to start, I've got better things to do with my time.'

'You mean Quidditch?' Neville's face lights up, and it feels like something Draco shouldn't be seeing. 'I like going to matches, too. We could always go together.'

'You're pretty slow, Longbottom. That's just what I said.'

'Oh, of course. I forgot that you don't speak in English like the rest of us.'

And, just like that, they have a date.

During the season, Quidditch games run once a week, but the real big games are spaced out. There's only about five proper clubs in all of the United Kingdom, but there's a lot of amateur teams who fill in the off weeks. If you're a die-hard fan with the budget for a season pass portkey, you can see them all. Draco and Neville settle for the big games, and anything involving their own local teams.

It's hard to describe it. Time passes differently during a game, and Draco's awareness of his body fades. It's very nearly just coincidence, that Longbottom is the person in the seat next to his. On the other side, there's some stranger. A familiar face, but no name that Draco can put to it. It's all very respectable and uncharged, until the fourth game. Arrows versus Wasps. Neville reaches across to pass Draco the omnioculars, and his knee shifts and presses in to Draco's, and just stays there.

There's no reason for it to be there. Neville would be more comfortable moving further back in his chair, with his legs only shoulder-width apart. So the knee thing is something he's actively maintaining. Deliberately keeping there. Draco's thigh is burning, and suddenly all of the frantic energy and directionless fury that he's been struggling with for his entire life, it seems, knows which way to go.

Neville Longbottom wants him, and he is going to grab handfuls of Neville's clothing, drag him home, and fuck him through the mattress. It's as simple as that. No wonder he'd been confused as a child. No child is mature enough, to understand that kind of craving. It makes Draco very alert, and time draws out. He lowers the omnioculars, he's not really watching the game any more, and passes them over when Neville asks for them.

Draco maintains his composure by keeping his eyes down. He walks silently alongside Neville, who is beginning to worry.

'No, really. Draco. What's the matter? I would have thought you'd be crowing at the Wasps' defeat.'

They reach the aparrition point, and Draco shrugs, smiles tightly. He gestures for Neville to go first.

When they reach Malfoy manor, Draco stops Neville from heading towards the common rooms with a hand on his elbow.

There's a lot of romantic things that Draco could say, but what he does say is, 'I can't stand you.'

Sometimes, tone is everything. Draco is breathless, and giddy, and he is too swollen with all of these feelings to possibly fit inside his own skin.

'Oh,' Neville says.

So there they are, more or less alone. Draco can't get the courage up to look at Neville's face. 'Er, and you? With the knee?'

He sounds so desperate, it is not funny.

'Yep, that's me all right. Gran always said I had two left knees. Feet, I mean, feet.'

So at least they're both morons. Draco has to be the one who takes Neville's hand in his own, and then there's no stopping the eye contact, and Draco doesn't care when or how Neville started feeling this way. What matters is that they are taller and older, and there's no need at all to think about itching powder or sabotaging potions when Draco can pinch and grab hard enough to bruise, and Neville only holds him tighter.

Afterwards, because it's still a little hard to believe, Draco looks down at Neville. It's dark, and he can barely see anything. Only really knows Neville's there, because that intolerable itching in his skin, that urge to kick someone in the shins, stops right at the point where his sweaty, sticky side pressed up against Neville's arm.

'Are you sure you're Neville Longbottom? You're not, I don't know, someone polyjuicing for a laugh?'

Neville answers that with an elbow in Draco's side. Somewhere down the hall, Scorpius wakes up and starts whingeing. Draco can hear Astoria getting up, whingeing about having to do so, making a nice big pity party in the nursery.

Draco sighs, and lets himself fall, so that he's uncomfortably plastered over Neville's chest. Pins the offending elbow in a nasty position.

'Just making sure. Didn't want to embarrass myself with effusive confessions of eternal love in front of a stranger.'

Neville holds his breath, reaches his free arm up to wrap around Draco's waist. They wait in silence for a bit. Neville lets out his breath slowly, and Draco can feel their skin stick together, shift a little.

'… Well,' Neville asks.

'Well what?'

'Don't I get any effusive confessions?'

Draco yawns, and rolls his eyes. Neville can't see him, but it's the thought that counts, right? 'Already did. Anyway, we can add you to the Scorpius roster, right? I'll get one more night of uninterrupted sleep each week.'

It's a lie. Draco usually wakes up and worries even when it's not his turn to get up and see to the kid. Neville can probably tell, too. See right through Draco.

Neville responds by shoving Draco off of his chest, stretching the pins and needles out of his hand, and rolling over onto his side. He makes himself at home in Draco's bed, and mumbles 'You jerk,' and reaches back over his shoulder to pull Draco up against his back.


End file.
